


blood sweat & tears

by cakecakecake



Series: house of cards [1]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sex, Kissing, Memory Loss, One Shot Collection, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 17:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18035984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakecakecake/pseuds/cakecakecake
Summary: a collection of one-shots for julian and the apprentice wrinthe.





	blood sweat & tears

**Author's Note:**

> julian and wrinthe reflect on the first time they kissed.

Wrinthe cries out loud enough to startle the peacocks. 

“You did _not_ \-- ”

Julian doubles over, nearly knocking her off his lap as he heaves with laughter. He could very well tip them both backwards into the fountain if he's not paying attention and he's _not_ , so she clutches his shoulders for balance. It’s hard to steady herself when she’s infected with his contagious giggles. She tries again to urge him on, kissing the edge of his brow -- 

“You didn’t, there’s no way, you did _not_ fuck the Countess -- "

“Oh, but I did!” he assures her, taking pause to interrupt her incredulous laughter with a light peck on the lips before further elaboration. “Although it did take some extra encouragement, mind you -- on their part. I must have asked her five times if she was really sure before Asra nearly smacked our skulls together -- "

“Mm, sounds like him,” she interjects, cocking an eyebrow and he winks.

“Oh, indeed. But he’d briefly mentioned how much he’d like to watch, and, well,” he chews his lip, that all-too familiar flash of shame darkening his eye as she realizes. It must have taken very little for him to do anything Asra might have asked, as it were. She fights a frown, pinching his chin between her thumb and forefinger and bats her lashes, hoping the sight draws his attention away from the negativity. The right corner of his mouth quirks. 

“How was it, then?” she purrs. He clears his throat, a flush of crimson burning at the tips of his ears.

“Wet,” he blurts out, laughing a little -- but he quiets rather quickly, melted-honey voice lilting downward an octave as he recalls the dirtier details, “but oh, her kiss...She was so soft, maddening to touch. The sour tinge of her lipstick and the five glasses of Goose had me dizzy enough to faint.”

Wrinthe gasps, swallowing a moan as Julian tilts his hips, driving them upward into her groin as he slips his hands past the slit in her gown -- 

“I must have been trembling like a tree in a storming wind,” he describes, slowly, murmuring against her open neck, “I can faintly recall Asra steadying me at the waist from behind, the touch of hands so searing hot on my bare skin. The three of us stayed like that for some time.”

“Were the three of you often like that?” she asks him suddenly. His lips are still pressed to the hollow of her collarbone and both of them take pause, a little taken aback. Julian cants his head, blinking at her a few times before it seems to dawn on him that she hasn’t asked out of jealousy. He regards her carefully for a moment, flashing her a smirk before conceding into thought. He looks nostalgic all of a sudden, thoughtful. He sighs, almost forlorn.

“Not as often as we would have liked, perhaps,” he answers honestly. “Lucio’s presence did put a damper on many a hopeful endeavor -- ohoho, such a crude thing for me to say -- but it doesn’t make it any less true!” He laughs at himself. “Nadia would probably agree.” 

“Were there others?” she asks, nearly cutting him off. 

He cocks a thick brow, lowering his eyelids. “What do you mean?” 

(He knows what she means.) 

“Other...endeavors,” she humors him, fixated on his lips.

“Oh, you wicked little thing,” he chortles. “Of course there were. Not very many of them, mind you -- "

“I don’t,” she assures him, winking. “Do you remember them?”

“Well, I know there was Violet first, when I was about seventeen,” he starts to explain, sharp grin curling over his teeth. “Pretty thing, but a little too gentle. Then Geralt, the very handsome barkeep, back when the Rowdy Raven had just opened -- then the twins." (Wrinthe raises her brows, impressed.) "Boy and girl, although I cannot for the life of me remember their names. They were gorgeous though, with blue hair -- they would tie me up, gag me -- "

He winks at that, slippery boy that he is, and Wrinthe can’t resist gnawing on her lip. He shifts his weight beneath her slightly, smile faltering.

“They didn't deserve the fate they met with -- I was heart-wrenched when they got sick. They were some of the very first victims, fallen so quickly...but after them, it was Nadia and….”

He trails off, glancing aside as a different wave of emotion seems to cross his face. “Well. I suppose that would make you my sixth, or seventh, after…”

“Asra,” she finishes for him, and he nods.

She figured as much. In all fairness, Asra had been her only, as far as she knew. Not just for kissing, but she thinks Julian probably knows that. If the thought makes him jealous at all, Wrinthe can’t tell; she doesn’t think it does, but he tenses his jaw and breathes out through flared nostrils as she confesses, “I wish I could remember my last. Even my times with Asra feel so far away, like they're not real -- I wonder if there even _was_ anyone else.” 

“Would it hurt if I told you that there was?” he asks her quietly, smile vanishing completely as he lifts his head to stare dolefully at her.

“Why would it hurt?”

“Because I’m sure it was me.”

She swallows, holding in a breath as she watches him watch her, searching her eyes. For what, she doesn’t know -- she’s not upset, but he’s probably expecting her to be. So sensitive. She starts to smile. 

“Was it really?”

“Yes,” he says fondly, tragically, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. “It was right here, by the fountains, in the dead of night.”

“Sounds romantic,” she purrs, wrinkling her nose at him. 

“Oh, my darling -- if not for the circumstances, it would have been.” He sounds so damned sad about it, dramatic ass. Wrinthe furrows her brow, growing a little impatient. 

“What happened?”

“Should I really tell you?” his lip quivers, almost on the verge of tears. Wrinthe resists rolling her eyes and tugs on his shirt instead, just hard enough to be stern.

“Julian, I want to know -- please?”

“It was the night Asra left.”

Her jaw drops. “Oh," is all she manages.

She hadn’t known what she’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t that, and Julian clearly hadn’t expected the face she must be making, because his grip on her waist tightens and the light comes back to his eyes as he quickly attempts to ease the blow -- 

“Oh, It wasn’t totally awful, sweetheart! It was a gorgeous night, clear and warm, with not a cloud in sight -- the moon was full and gleaming and reflecting so beautifully in your eyes. You were crying, and I felt like a complete bastard, but I couldn’t help thinking of how radiant you looked in that moment, with your face all red and your lashes all wet…”

“And I really kissed you like that?” Wrinthe can’t help herself, cutting him off in surprise.

“Don’t you believe me?”

“Julian! Of course I believe _you_ ,” she lets herself laugh. “I just can’t believe myself.”

“Well, you did, you did.” (He sounds so happy that she did.) “I held you, let you sob into my shoulder for a few agonizing minutes, and when we pulled apart, you took hold of my collar and just…”

Slurring his speech into a slow drawl, Julian quiets his voice, drawing her closer until he’s talking directly into her mouth before gently, softly capturing her lips in his. A maddeningly slow, feather-soft kiss, warm and consuming. It almost hurts her to stop. 

“ _Oh_.”

“You apologized profusely for the tears.”

“Now that does sound like me.”

“But I didn’t mind one bit,” he assures her, grinning. “I was happy just to offer you some relief, no matter how you really felt.”

“How did _you_ feel?” It’s almost a whisper, like she’s afraid of the answer.

“Back then?” he raises his brows, widening his stare. “Stuck, I suppose -- between being so wrought over Asra...and so guilty, for harboring blossoming feelings for you…”

“Did we ever talk about it?”

He looks crestfallen, shaking his head. “No, we. We didn’t. With Asra leaving and the sickness spreading, we were just…” 

Afraid, he doesn’t say. Afraid and ashamed -- and guilty, of course. Scared, naturally, of the plague and of their own feelings -- specifically of never exploring those feelings _because_ of the plague. But scared most of all, of losing time, which they’d lost anyway, in the end. As much as it pains her to accept, even if either of them had said something then, Wrinthe supposes nothing would have come of it.

It seems he knows it too, as he idly fiddles with her necklaces, offering up a half-hearted smirk. He doesn’t need to say it, he knows. Julian would have been _Julian_ about it, all self-sacrificing and self-loathing and she would still have died without knowing how he really felt. 

“Wrinthe.”

She buries her fingers in his scalp, staring into his face like she’s struck with an irrational fear that she might suddenly forget what he looks like, or how it feels to have him grinning at her with that wolfish glint in his eye. He bumps his long nose against hers. 

“I’m so sorry, Wrinthe,” he chokes on a hollow laugh and she hushes him, pressing her thumb against his plush lips.

“It doesn’t matter,” she tells him softly and he whimpers just so, eyes falling shut as her fingers trace whisper-soft touches along his neck. "None of that matters now, Julian."

"Wrinthe," he says again, rolling the "r" with the dialect of his motherland. 

"As far as I know," she starts, "my first kiss wasn't too long ago, that night at Mazelinka's, on that featherbed by candlelight."

His mouth falls open, likely with the intent of saying her name again, but pretty as it sounds from his lips, Wrinthe has a much better use for them. So she pulls him close again, flush against the burning warmth of his chest, eager tongue swiping past the seam of his lips. Julian moans into her open mouth, digging his fingers into her waist as she deepens their kiss, hungrily making up for time lost. She says a prayer in her head, takes a moment for the tears shed and the words unsaid, and keeps kissing him. As penance and as a promise. They have all the time in the world now, and she won't let it go to waste.


End file.
